


always set to self-destruct

by Katraa



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Eventual Romance, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 17:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10701906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katraa/pseuds/Katraa
Summary: High school student by day, leader of the Phantom Thieves by night, Akira's life isn't what you would call typical.  Moving back to his childhood home, Tokyo, brings with it the power of the wildcard, a mystery, new friends, a detective that won't leave him alone, and the coming of age that everyone his age can't stop talking about: a soulmate.  Maybe this is all more than he bargained for.(childhood friends au; soulmate au multi-chapter fic; eventual akechi/akira, others to be determined later! )





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vinylsigns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinylsigns/gifts).



> WHAT IS HAPPENING WITH MY LIFE.
> 
> welcome to the introduction of what may be the longest fanfic i'll ever write.  
> it's going to be pretty slow after this introduction.  
> basically a chapter or two per dungeon.  
> i won't really focus on what happens in-game (since you know that part), but instead focus on the "added scenes" with the group.  
> you know, about childhood sweethearts and soul-mates.  
> and akechi who just keeps SHOWING UP?

His homecoming to Tokyo wasn’t as grand as he would have liked it to be. The situations surrounding it were less than spectacular, and he figured the places he frequented when he was six were likely out of business or out of his age bracket. Still, there was something comforting about the familiar buzz of the city streets, something definitively _right_ about being back here. 

Maybe it was because he had finally fallen victim to the hype of soul-mates. It hadn’t really interested him before, but when you hit a certain age, that’s all anyone talks about. _Have you met yours yet_ wasn’t taboo, but was rather encouraged gossip around his old school. Supposedly, when you hit puberty, you’d start to see your soulmate’s writing on your skin. That is, if the person you’re meant to _live forever with_ gets any ink on their skin, it’ll show on yours. Of course, there’s always the possibility things get reversed, and a mark on the left arm appears on the right. That’s fairly normal, the books say, and is just a testament about how human souls are two halves of a whole. Akira isn’t sure he buys it. And he isn’t sure he’s all that interested.

He has more important things to worry about: like an arrest and probation for something that was not his fault. Compound that with a rather ghoulish man acting as his captor in dreams and you get a laundry list of priorities that trump _soul-mates_.

Besides, Akira always thinks, when he’s meant to find someone, he will. There’s no rush.

* * * 

Leblanc, while small, dusty, and set off in the backstreets, is a good fit for him, he realizes. He can make this work. So long as he has a bed to sleep in, sheets to cocoon in, and food to eat, he can survive. He’s been strangely adaptable all his life and something like moving away from your parents for a year to serve out your probation just fits so well.

When he calls it a night and lays down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, dust motes dancing in the dim light coming in from the street lamps, he takes a deep breath. Everything is going to be okay.

For the first time that day, he thinks back to his childhood. He thinks back to the tiny apartment his parents had when he was growing up. He thinks back to dinner out at the beef bowl shop and his Dad coming home from business trips with gifts from around the world. He thinks of his Mother, a beautiful woman but sad, reading him bedtime stories. He thinks of his school, of how much he hated math and learning English. He thinks of his teachers and he thinks of his friends.

Of him.

He thinks of the boy that sat next to him in his last year of school before he moved out to the suburbs. A tiny, frail boy with messy brown hair and – were they brown eyes? Akira isn’t sure, the details start to fade with the age of the memories. He can’t recall his name, but he does remember the way that the boy looked up to him as if he were his own personal hero. His savoir. Which is silly, because what boy needs to be saved at six? Aren’t boys supposed to save girls?

He remembers sitting on the edge of the sandbox, talking about the stars and about dreams. He remembers the boy, in a quiet voice, saying that he wishes it could be like this always. Just the two of them, talking, sitting here, the world going on around them. He wishes he doesn’t have to go home at the end of the day. He wishes Sundays didn’t exist and he wishes he lived with Akira.

Of all the things he remembers most about his first best friend, it’s the day that some jerks on the playground push him around. Akira, even a noble hero back then, stands up for him and ends up with a nasty bruise on his knee from being shoved down. But that’s the extent of the fight: they’re six and a bully is a bully.

His friend starts crying, apologizing, saying it’s all his fault and that he’s weak. That if he was special, if he was stronger, this wouldn’t have happened, that Akira wouldn’t be hurt because of him.

But Akira, even back then, tosses him a charming smile and tells him it was nothing, and that’s what friends do: they help one another.

It’s two days later that his friend gives him a tiny keychain, just smaller than a strawberry - he knows because he had some for lunch that day. The keychain, upon closer inspection, is of a crow. It’s interesting and Akira wonders where his friend got it. 

His friend tells him it’s the least he can do, and that he hopes Akira thinks of him when he looks at it.

Akira doesn’t take the keychain off his backpack until he moves.

* * * 

His new friends in school are quite the bunch to say the least. Ryuji is outspoken and quick to give in to impulses, whether that be anger or his stomach. Ann is a sweet girl with what seems like just as many misconceptions about her as Akira has.

Akira hears the whispers. That he’s a delinquent and not to be trusted. That he’s dangerous and he’s ruining their school by coming here. People even begin to circulate that he’s killed a man. He tries not to let them bother him, because Akira learned early on that rumors can’t be stopped even if you try. Usually it just makes them worse.

But he likes Ann, and he likes Ryuji. They make this transition easier for him. Add that to the talking cat he just acquired and his first month back in the city is quite happening. 

Shadows and Phantoms and Changing Hearts. It’s a bit much for him, but it’s exciting. He’s always wanted to make a difference, but never really has had the chance. His grades aren’t the best, he isn’t very athletic, and he isn’t a good orator. He wishes he could draw and he wishes he could sing, but nothing like that ever came easy to him. The trait he prides himself in, he realizes, is his ability to listen. People open up to him on a whim. People _trust_ him. And that’s more than enough to keep pressing forward. 

“You’re really the man, you know that? I’m already starting to look up to you,” Ryuji says as they’re on their way home. It’s one of those rare times that Ryuji isn’t going on about the next steps in their plan to take down Kamoshida. 

“Why?” Akira finds himself asking, absently toying with the strap of his backpack.

“Why not?” Ryuji counters and there’s a big grin on his face. “You look danger in the eye and laugh at it! … Or something cool like that. It sounded better in my head. Damn.” 

There’s a tiny laugh that escapes Akira, lost to the sound of traffic as they walk. “Thanks, I guess?”

“Anyway, you, me, Ann and that talking pipsqueak. Tomorrow. Sushi.”

“I’m right here, you know!” Morgana shouts from Akira’s backpack, awaking from his catnap just in time to add his two cents.

“Pipe down, cat!” Ryuji says and he bites his tongue after, partly because he’s having an argument with a cat, and well, it’s a cat. No one else can hear him and maybe they shouldn’t be walking around the city with an animal in Akira’s backpack.

“Sushi sounds good,” Akira chimes in. He isn’t sure the last time he’s had that.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Ryuji exclaims, excitedly balling his hand into a fist.

“Extra fatty tuna, please,” Morgana chirps from the backpack, his tiny paw pressing the nape of Akira’s neck just to be certain he acknowledges. 

“All right.”

The next day comes just as every day tends to, and they’re all gathered at the tiny sushi place near Shibuya station. Ann is absently picking at her rice, not looking all that hungry. She’s worrying about her friend, Shiho. She’s worrying about a lot of things and Akira can’t blame her. She has a lot at stake in this operation and it’s almost time to shut down the Pervert Professor.

Tomorrow is going to be a big day. They can do this, Akira thinks. With the help of Morgana, they can do this. If they mess up, it’s their lives and potentially Kamoshida’s on the line, too. Akira wonders if he can actually go through with this. What if someone dies?

His stomach churns and maybe sushi wasn’t the best idea after all.

“Hey, so,” Ryuji begins, eating his nerves away as he starts his second maki, “Guess what I heard?”

“Hm?” Ann looks up and over at him.

“You know that third-year student? The one with the purple hair?”

“Uhm, I think so? Why?” Ann isn’t sure where this is going, her chopsticks lingering uselessly in the air. 

“She _got the mark_ yesterday.”

Ann looks surprised all of a sudden, her face turning a soft pink. “O-oh,” she actually stutters and looks off to the side, her gaze anywhere but her partners. 

Akira is a bit lost. “Mark?”

“For real?” Ryuji asks, eyes bugging out as his eyebrows threaten to shoot right off his head. “Y’know, the mark! The one you get when you’re a real man - er, or woman – and your soul-mate writes to you. Please tell me this isn’t just a city thing.”

“Oh.” Akira wrinkles his nose, hand coming up to toy with the ends of his bangs. Yes, he had heard about those marks. Increasingly often, he notices, with his return to the city. “Yeah, I know of them.”

“So you know it’s a big deal when someone gets it,” Ryuji continues and he makes a noise reminiscent of a cat call. “Damn, though, it doesn’t really ever happen. At least, not that anyone finds out about. Usually people keep it quiet. …Then again, what do you expect from someone with purple hair.”

“Ryuji,” says Ann, warningly, shaking her head. 

“Sorry,” Ryuji grumbles, realizing that yes, he’s jumping to conclusions again, and yes, it’s a bad habit. “Just saying if I got it, I wouldn’t go around showing everyone.”

“Does it change?” Akira questions.

“The mark?” Ann nods. “I think it’s whatever the other person writes. In that case, it’s probably words, or a drawing. I think it can come and go, too. Kinda like temporary tattoos in the shower.”

“You like temporary tattoos?” Ryuji narrows in on that, grin stretching from ear to ear as he leans a bit closer to Ann, intrigued. “I didn’t peg you as that type. Cool.”

“They’re fun,” Ann says, embarrassed, face turning red again. “I do them sometimes for my photo shoots. They think it adds something.”

Akira allows the two to ramble on about tattoos a bit longer, focusing on his sushi instead. His gaze drifts around the tiny restaurant. There’s a fish tank off in the far corner, an older couple having dinner and discussing the stock market, and a child with a mother in the other corner. It’s a cozy place to be, this place, and Akira makes note to come visit again. He’s about to return to the conversation – did he hear something about cake? – when the bell chimes above the door signaling a new customer.

Said customer stops at the front desk, seemingly waiting for takeout. He’s on his phone, fiddling around with it, and only looks up when the hostess and owner greet him. He’s got a pretty smile, Akira realizes, and a familiar face. It takes him a few moments to place him: Goro Akechi, ace detective. The one the girls at school fawn over. The one that’s on the news sometimes. The student detective that is dedicated to justice and locking up the foulest of criminals. Something in his gut twists, like a knife, and he tries to look away, but can’t.

Because he was caught staring. Caught red-handed. Akechi looks up from the bag of takeout and catches his gaze. There’s something there, something heady and poignant, but Akira can’t puzzle it out. His hand burns.

“Oooh,” Ann says as Goro Akechi turns away and leaves, bidding the hostess goodbye with a picture perfect smile meant for television.

Akira looks over to her, head tilted slightly to the left? “Huh?”

“He’s that detective,” Ann explains. “A lot of the girls like him. He’s never really been my type, but he is objectively attractive.”

“That priss?” Ryuji says, snorting through his nose. “The one that runs around claiming to be a Prince? God, gag me.”

“Ryuji,” Ann huffs.

“What? He’s a know-it-all. He’s what’s wrong with the media. They only focus on the BS that people want to hear. They don’t even tell the truth.” There seems to be something bubbling under the surface, but neither Ann nor Akira touch it. 

“Agree to disagree,” Ann says, gently, and then turns her attention back to her food. “….Anyway, we should hurry up and finish. I want to at least try and get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

* * * 

After they beat Kamoshida, things calm down a bit. For just a few days. Akira finds himself closer to Ryuji and Ann than before, and it’s refreshing that all the victims around school are finally free of their tormentor. He can see the relief in Mishima’s eyes. He can see the way that the other members of the volleyball team carry themselves a bit taller, a bit lighter. And Akira thinks, that’s because of them. They saved them. They changed Kamoshida’s heart. Akira has never been one to enjoy praise, but for right now, he’s indulging in it.

For once, Akira feels like he can make a difference. For once, he feels special. For the first time in years actually, he doesn’t feel quite as alone. The Metaverse is good for him. Ryuji and Ann are good for him. This curse is a blessing in disguise. A chance to try and fix the world and save the victims that otherwise would never have a voice.

He feels happy.

Even as he lays in bed, staring out the window at the flickering street lamp. Morgana is asleep on his bed, purring in his sleep. Akira wonders what type of person Morgana was before all of this. From what Akira gathers, he imagines Morgana must be around their age. Maybe a few years younger. He decides that once this is all over, he wants to stay friends with Morgana. Because Morgana has helped him so much and he’s his friend, even if he’s a _cat_.

He had almost been asleep, but Ann’s text, thanking him for the millionth time for helping her save Shiho and get justice for her, actually woke him up. He’d never tell her that, though.

He’s almost _back_ asleep when he thinks his phone in his pocket, covered by his right hand, buzzes. Groaning, he tries to take it out without waking Morgana. His eyes squint in the dim light and - no new messages. Huh. Phantom Vibration Syndrome, he supposes.

He’s about to put it away and try and get some well deserved sleep when something catches his eye. … is that a bug? There’s definitely a spot on his arm that wasn’t there earlier. He stretches in order to swat at his arm, but the spot remains. … So no bug or shirt fuzz, then. 

Akira frowns and he takes out his phone again and uses the backlight to try and ascertain what could be on his arm. Maybe a smudge from the radiator he was cleaning earlier? Something like that?

His heart stops when he sees, in neat hand-writing that _positively_ is not his own, the words

_Kurusu Akira_

TO BE CONTINUED......


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during the time of Palace 2!  
> The next chapter will finish up Palace 2 and introduce Yusuke into the group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the warm and encouraging comments!

It’s not long after the downfall of Kamoshida that the group of thieves meets Yusuke. The pupil of their next target, he’s definitely an interesting guy. He seems to love art in all forms, and the proposition to paint Ann is a great way to infiltrate Madarame’s abode to get a look around. Morgana thinks the plan will work, but Ryuji isn’t so sure. Isn’t it a huge gamble to put Ann in a situation where she has to distract Yusuke long enough for them to sneak into the locked room?

“Come on, he wants to paint you. Just smile a lot and giggle. And do the hair thing,” Ryuji says as they are seated at one of the many booths of Leblanc. Usually, they’d be meeting up on the school roof, but today they had wanted a snack and Sojiro had asked Akira - surprisingly – to watch the place for him as he went into the city for a job.

“The hair thing?” Ann repeats, skeptical, as he takes a sip of her coffee. “What hair thing?”

“Y’know, the hair thing that girls do when they’re flirting…” Ryuji begins strong but begins to fade, confidence waning like a candle in the wind. “That’s a thing, right?”

Ann can’t help the tiny laugh that escapes her. Her hand goes up to cover her mouth, the biggest smile since the Kamoshida evidence blossoming on her face. “What exactly do you think we do with our hair, Ryuji?”

“Uhhhh….” Ryuji clears his throat, face turning a shade warmer. Accordingly, he nudges Akira under the table. “Akira, you know. The hair thing.”

Akira has been fading in and out of the conversation. His mind is elsewhere, whether he cares to admit it or not. He’s been careful to wear longer sleeves the past few days, even if the weather is warming up.

The night his own name appeared on his arm, he was dumb-founded. It wasn’t his hand-writing. It was his _name_. His first thought was that Morgana had somehow learned to use his paws with amazing dexterity in the real-world. When he figured that was just a pipe dream, the dawning realization that he had a soul-mate, an actual _soul-mate_ , hit him like a bus. Furthermore, his soul-mate seemed to know him. Was he reaching out to him? How did he know who he was?

Akira felt oddly vulnerable. This wasn’t fair. How did someone know they were his soul-mate? There were too many other things to worry about right now, and he didn’t end up writing anything back. Maybe if he ignored it he could focus.

That wasn’t really the case. The week following up until today had been riddled with moments where he swore he felt a prickle on his arm. He’d find himself peeking underneath his sleeves, finding nothing but bare, pale skin. He told himself he wasn’t interested. He told himself he wanted to meet someone the old fashioned way, and that there would be a time and place for that.

You know, when he wasn’t trying to clear his name and help the world around him. 

But it’s still a mystery. 

“Yo, man, hello in there,” Ryuji says, dragging him out of his reveries. The blonde is shifting so that he can dramatically wave his hands in front of his face. “Hellllooooo?”

“I’m fine,” Akira says, apologetic. He shakes his head and gives the group a weak smile. “Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Of course you didn’t! You stayed up late playing video games,” Morgana whines, putting his paws up on the table so he can properly scrutinize his friend.

“Oh, which one?” Ryuji asks, completely forgetting his earlier train of thought. “Is it that bomb-ass new ninja game? I really need to get my hands on that one.”

“Yeah, it has ninjas!” Morgana answers for him.

“I didn’t ask you!” Ryuji says, wheeling around to glare at the cat.

“Boys,” Ann interrupts, hesitantly, not sure whether she should step in or not. “Can we go back to figuring out how we’re all planning on getting into that room? If it’s locked, we’re going to need to find the key… I don’t think Madarame is the type of person to leave that lying around.”

“Uh… oh! You can get that guy to open it for you! And then we’ll all rush in.”

“What?” Ann flusters and then begins shaking her head back and forth. “There’s no way!”

“Lady Ann, I believe in you,” Morgana encourages. “Tell him that the lighting might be better in there. Or that the rest of the place is drafty and it’d be more comfortable for you in there.”

“This isn’t going to work…” Ann looks anxious again, and Akira reaches out to gently touch her arm. When he does, Ann’s expression brightens and she sucks in a deep breath. There’s a quiet thanks murmured under her breath before she steels her resolve. “Okay! Okay I’ll try. But we need a code-word if something goes wrong.”

“Oh, a codeword. Like in the movies,” Ryuji says approvingly, leaning back in the booth. “Can it be kumquat?”

“What kind of codeword is that?” Morgana groans, shaking his head back and forth, tail flicking in irritation.

“Kumquat,” Ann repeats, trying not to laugh. “I was thinking more like Shadow, but…”

“That could work!” Morgana exclaims, doing a poor job in hiding his encouragement of Ann in general. “If something starts going on – like if he touches you – you say Shadow and I will be there and claw his face.”

“Chill, Morgana,” Ryuji snorts, obviously reading between the lines. “You think this is a good idea, Joker?”

“It could work,” Akira says simply, chewing on the straw from his smoothie he got on the way over to Leblanc earlier. “…It’s still a risk, though.” Which is just stating the obvious. Everything they do is a risk.

“I know,” Ann answers and lowers her gaze down to the table again. “But if we can save someone from what Shiho went through, I’m willing to try.”

There’s a quiet silence that engulfs the group. Everyone seems to be on board for the plan. Ann will distract Yusuke and get him to open up the door. After that, they can infiltrate the treasure room and steal away Madarame’s most prized possession, just like last time. If it worked once, it can work again, right? Morgana opens his mouth to speak – or it seems like he is, judging from the way his right ear is twitching and he’s pivoting his head, but Ann cuts him off.

Her hand clasps down on the table from what _seems_ to be excitement.

“Akira, look!”

Ryuji whirls around in his seat again, nearly dropping his phone on the table. He’s looking madly in every which direction, not sure what Ann is pointing out. Akira, on the other hand, feels a coldness creeping down his neck, right down to his toes. It isn’t rocket science that the tickling on the back of his left hand is what Ann is focused on. And here he was, trying his best to forget about it.

“What’s it say!”

“What’s what say?” Ryuji, still clueless as ever, is looking at the table, the window, and then the TV. He hasn’t noticed that there’s pretty handwriting appearing on the back of Akira’s hand. 

Akira feels exposed all of a sudden. It’s not that he doesn’t trust his friends, but he isn’t in the best position to handle this right now. They’re so close to changing Madarame’s heart, to helping out his past pupils, preventing further exploitation. There’s no time to be dawdling and focusing on stupid things like the inner workings of the heart in _this respect_.

He makes a move to hide his hand with his right, but he decides against it in the last moment. Curosity kills the cat and Akira peeks down at his hand, bringing it up closer so he can properly inspect it.

“Dude, she has hot handwriting,” Ryuji admires, finally catching on, as he leans closer to stare at the word on Akira’s hand. “And apparently really likes coffee?”

Ann laughs, the sound like bells, breaking the tension. “Really? She wrote coffee on her hand? That’s cute.”

Akira is staring blankly at his hand. Why on earth would someone write that on themselves? Was his soul-mate trying to invite him to coffee? There was no question mark, so discounts that hypothesis.

“Have you talked to her before? Or is this the first time?” Ann begins, her voice slow and cautious, as if she’s ready to backpedal if Akira begins showing signs of discomfort. After all, this is one of the most personal things about a person.

Morgana is murmuring something under his breath which sounds suspiciously like, ‘Thank god it’s not Lady Ann.’ Akira ignores it, and any other time he’d smile at how lovestruck Morgana is for their friend, but right now he has Ryuji’s face dangerously close to his knuckles.

“Dude, write something!”

“Yeah, you should. This could be a fun distraction,” Ann agrees, crossing her arms on the table. “Maybe you two can set up something after we take the treasure? Like a coffee date?”

“I haven’t said anything back yet,” Akira admits, his voice quieter than he intended it to be. 

“So this isn’t the first time,” Ann concludes and her gaze softens. “You can take your time, you know. The good thing about a soul-mate is that they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

“But don’t you wanna know?” Ryuji pries, trying to meet Akira’s weary gaze. “Like, what she looks like? Sounds like? How hot she is?”

“Is that all that matters to you?” Ann groans, slumping in her seat so that her face comes to rest in her hands. “Why are boys such idiots?”

“It is not!” Ryuji tries to argue, flustering. “Brains before beauty, okay.”

“Sure thing.” Ann’s voice is muffled by her hands and she doesn’t seem to be removing them anytime soon.

“Can we go back to the Treasure?” Morgana finally interrupts, sounding a bit irritated. There’s hurt wrapped up in there too, and Akira guesses that it’s likely due to the fact that Morgana is still struggling to regain his memories, his humanity. Akira doesn’t blame the guy. It’s a bit insensitive of them to be discussing soul-mates when Morgana can’t even remember his own face. 

“Sorry,” Ann drawls through a laugh and removes her face from her hands to smile at Morgana. “Let’s get back on track.”

* * * 

Later that night, Akira is sitting at the counter. He doesn’t feel like going for a clinical trial, and he doesn’t feel like going in to Shibuya to help out that friendly politician with his speech. Akira is tired and he doesn’t want to work at the beef bowl shop tonight. There’s so much happening and he feels definitely like he’s overextending himself. He needs a break. Spending time with his new friends is refreshing, really it is, but sometimes, he thinks, he just needs time alone to recharge. It’s hard to come by, what with living in a café, having Morgana sleep beside him… Sometimes, he just wants to stare into the abyss and just decompress.

He’s reading a book right now, trying to take his mind off the uneasiness that is his stomach. He told himself he’d respond to his soul-mate tonight. Right before bed. He’d write something back. For now, though, he’s scrubbed off the ink on his hand. He doesn’t want Sojiro to pry. As nice as the grumpy old bastard has been, he isn’t sure he wants Sojiro to start poking his nose into his love life.

But right now is nice. He’s just reading his book, watching the café as Sojiro goes on a cigarette run, and Morgana is asleep upstairs. Likely from a curry-coma.

The jingle of bells over the door interrupts him. He was getting to the good part, too!

“Oh, is Boss not here?”

Akira looks up from the page he was reading, about to say that the pot is still warm and he can pour a cup while Sojiro is out, but he doesn’t end up saying a word. His mind stalls out on him, curiously. He blinks at the brunette, taking a moment to place him. It’s that guy from the sushi place a couple of weeks ago. The famous detective on TV that Akira, for the most part, ignores. He figures Mishima would be more interested in this guy, for the popularity plug and all that.

“I can pour you a cup,” Akira finally says, making a move to get up.

“Oh, I don’t think he’d like his customers going behind the counter, no matter how regular they are!” The guy – Goro Akechi, was it? – says with a pleasant smile that seems a bit out of place.

Akira wrinkles his nose, feeling the stirrings of irritation start to creep up the back of his neck. “I live upstairs. It’s fine.”

“Oh.” The man’s smile doesn’t fade and he heads over to stand beside him. Awkwardly close. “You must be the one Sojiro mentioned.”

“I guess?” Akira blinks, at a loss. “But yeah, if you want a cup, I can get one for you.”

“If you don’t mind,” Akechi says as he takes a seat squarely on the stool beside Akira.

“…Okay.” Akira gets up, marking his page in his book by folding the corner. He heads around the counter, throws on the apron – because Sojiro would slaughter him if he came back and didn’t see it on – and goes about fetching Akechi a hot cup of coffee.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Akechi Goro. You may have seen my segment once or twice?” 

Akira stares blankly at the array of coffee cups. He wonders what this guy’s problem is. Who introduces themselves by saying something like that? Are all celebrities smug and assuming? Do all of them insist of letting you know that they’re on TV? Akira grabs a cup and the pot of coffee and slowly pours it, refusing to meet Akechi’s gaze.

“Haven’t seen it,” Akira says, simply. He’s not trying to be a brat, but he isn’t particularly interested. He brings the cup back over, watching Akechi for any sort of reaction. No disappoint, nothing. Just that distant smile. What a weirdo.

“Thank you,” Akechi says as he collects the cup and takes a sip, face contorting into overacted pleasure.

Akira can’t help the tiny snicker that forms. How does a guy that is this dramatic so popular on TV? Maybe Ann is right and it’s all teenage girls fawning over him. Akira leans against the counter, propping his elbows up to steady himself as he reaches for his book and reopens it.

“You aren’t going to sit back down?” Akechi wonders, eyebrows lifting as he takes another poignant sip.

“Boss will kill me if I’m sitting when there are customers,” Akira answers with a tiny shrug. He loudly flips back to his marked page.

“You’ll ruin it, if you keep doing that. The binding will get messed up,” Akechi says, eying the already frayed book in Akira’s hands.

Akira doesn’t look up from the black on white text. “Yeah? I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks?”

Akechi goes back to drinking his coffee, making another absurdly loud noise of content. “There is something about this place. Something about the roast that Boss uses. I’ve tried to discern it for months now, but I can never put my finger on it.”

Akira still doesn’t look up from his book. “Have you asked him?”

“A magician never reveals his tricks,” Akechi says, setting the cup down with a tiny clink. “Speaking of, I didn’t catch your name.”

 _Because I didn’t say it_ , Akira thinks, wondering what this guy’s problem is. He can handle Mishima’s low self-esteem, he can handle Ryuji’s ocassional outbursts and Ann’s love of shopping. He can handle Morgana being a cat and not knowing about his past. He can even handle the eccentric apprentice of Madarame. What he can’t handle is this brat that, for some reason, thinks the word owes him something. It’s been awhile since someone has gotten under Akira’s skin so _quickly_.

“Kurusu Akira,” Akira says, flipping the page as loud as he possibly can.

“Kurusu,” Akechi repeats. “Well, Kurusu, I do hope that our paths cross once more. I tend to stop by here for the quiet ambiance at least once or twice a month. Perhaps you’ll be helping out on those nights?”

 _So. Weird_. Akira is trying really hard not to let his eyes twitch. All he wants is a moment of peace, to read his book, and this guy still hasn’t stopped talking. If he ignores him, he risks pissing off Sojiro and losing the budding friendship between himself and his guardian. If he keeps talking, he’s going to lose his sanity. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

“Maybe.” 

Akechi doesn’t seem all too pleased with the short answer. He doesn’t comment, though, and goes back to drinking his coffee, taking out a leather-bound notebook in the meantime. Has he finally managed to catch on? That Akira isn’t in the mood for a conversation with someone who is so entitled and out of touch? 

Akira goes back to reading until Sojiro returns.

* * * 

Akira can’t sleep again. He’s staring at his ceiling, still stupidly wound up from dealing with the detective a couple of hours ago. He had been more than thankful when Sojiro returned and relieved him of his responsibilities. Sojiro had seemed pleased to see Akechi, and had started catching up with Akechi. Or, at least, as much effort as Sojiro can possibly put into a conversation with a customer.

Akira’s staring at his ceiling and watching the cars outside cast shapes on it. He isn’t sure why he’s nervous about infiltrating Madarame’s house tomorrow. Maybe because it isn’t a Palace and invading someone’s home is against the law. They could be caught. His stomach churns, wondering what that’d mean for probation. Jail, right? He closes his eyes tighter.

One step at a time.

Which reminds him. He reaches over to the tiny table near his bed and grabs the pen he left out from his homework earlier. He’s careful not to interrupt Morgana, who is dead-asleep, purring. He doesn’t want to explain to Morgana that, deep down, he really wants to meet his soul-mate. It’d be nice having someone like that in his corner. He just doesn’t want to make Morgana feel bad.

When he has the pen, he doesn’t use it for awhile. What does he say? _Hi_? What kind of greeting is that? Clearly Akira hasn’t read enough to have any good ideas. He’s sure there are articles and books written on this. After all, it’s _pretty important_ , right?

Maybe he should wait?

He can’t resist, though, and he finally writes **_Hello?_** on the back of his hand. It’s not nearly as pretty as the handwriting he had seen in the past, but hey, Akira is trying. He’s not a girl.

He waits five minutes. Ten. No response.

He’s about to give up and go back to bed when his hand tingles. A burst of excitement he wasn’t sure he was capable of blossoms inside him and he squints in the dim light to see what the person wrote back.

_This is a surprise._

Akira bites his lip, trying not to laugh. Yeah, it’s a definite surprise. Akira didn’t think he would ever have a soul-mate, either. His heart is a mess and there are definitely butterflies nesting in his stomach. Why is he such a mess? He’s never this uncool.

Quickly, he uncaps the pen again and writes back just under those words. **_For me too yeah._** He swallows the lump down in throat and writes just under that, quickly losing space on his hand to write, **_I’m glad_**.

This time, closer to his wrist, _Hopefully we won’t get ink poisoning._

Akira starts on his arm. _**Might be worth it.**_

_A romantic._

**_Never thought about it but yeah._ **

Akira’s heart is pounding and he can hear the blood in his ears. He can’t breathe, he can’t think. The Metaverse, the world outside of this room suddenly doesn’t matter.

_This should be the last time._

And just like that, Akira’s heart crashes and burns in a fiery blaze. **_What? Why?_**

No response.

Akira is staring at his arm that is littered with writing, rereading the conversation, trying to figure out where he went wrong. What did he say? Was he too weird? He stares at his arm for twenty minutes and then realizes that he isn’t getting a response.

He might not ever get another response. This may be the shortest lived romance to ever exist.

Akira thinks, in some weird sort of twisted fate, this is what it feels like to have the beginnings of a broken heart.

TO BE CONTINUED.... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY FOR THAT CLIFF-HANGER....  
> I'll try and have the next chapter up sometime this week if classes don't burn me out.  
> Again, thanks for reading and let me know your thoughts and anything in particular you'd like to see going forward!


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